Where Do We Go From Here?
by Katieishere
Summary: Picks up where Season 3 ended; I couldn't let Mitchell go. What started as a therapy session has morphed into a full plot. Vampires and werewolves and ghosts, oh my! Plus a new face and Old enemy.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

_George __whirls __around __and __stakes __Mitchell __in __the __heart__. "__I__'__m __doing __this __because __I __love __you__," __he __chokes __out__, __staring __into __Mitchell__'__s __stunned __face__. __Mitchell __stares __back __and __smiles__. "__I __know__," __he __says __quietly__. __Annie__, __George__, __and __Nina __stand __frozen __as __Mitchell __cracks __and __disintegrates __into __a __pile __of __dust __and __clothes__; __then __just __clothes__._

Mitchell blinks as his view shifts from a fade of George's face to... A wall. A decidedly familiar, gray, wall. He looks down and realizes he's standing in a doorway; he's dry, clean, and standing just inside a doorway. Purgatory's doorway.

"The hell?" he wonders aloud as he steps into the hallway and looks around. "Hello?" he calls, "Is anyone here?" The door shuts behind him with a bang that makes him jump, but when he whirls around to see who did it there's no one there. "Yeah. HELLO?" he calls; no response, not even an echo. "Where's all the doors?" he asks, looking left to right. The hallway seems to stretch out endlessly on either side, with bright white light radiating from far away. "Thought I'd warrant at least _some_ kind of reception," he mutters. "So, I guess hell would be this way?" Mitchell looks to the right, shrugs and starts heading down the hall.

Light after overhead light passes above him, but the end of the hall never seems to get closer.

After a few yards Mitchell picks up the pace and begins to jog, keeping an eye out for any door in the wall or a change in perspective to show him he's getting closer to the end. It was hard to judge how long he ran, having so little frame of reference, but after what felt like an hour he slowed to a halt and planted his hands on his hips.

"Helloo?" he calls again, futilely. "Is _this_ hell?" he asks the wall to his left. "I'm stuck alone for eternity, in a corridor that shares traits with a treadmill?" In frustration Mitchell punches the wall for its silence, then checks over his shoulder to see if anything is different that way. A glint in the wall a few yards back catches his eye, and he makes a mad dash to whatever door he somehow managed to overlook.

Mitchell draws up just as he's about to wrench open the door.

"This is..." he pauses as he backs away, jarring into the opposite wall. "This is the door I came through... But I've run _miles_." he says quietly. "What is going on?" he wonders, then looks up to the ceiling and steps forward, "What is going on here!" he roars, then drops his head and lets lets his body sag when the silence continues. Leaning back against the wall, he lets his body slide to the floor, rests his arms on his bent knees, and give the door across from him the stinkeye. "This doesn't make sense," he says to himself in frustration, "why won't it make SENSE?" Mitchell slams his palms on the ground, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" he roars at the ceiling. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it! Show me where to go and I'll be there! You've got me here, PUNISH ME!"

Dropping his head into his hands and jamming his fingers into his hair, Mitchell almost misses seeing the entry door creak open.

No noise or light spills into the corridor, and he tenses as he he waits to see who is coming in. He relaxes and leans his heads back against the wall as minutes go by with no change. Eventually heaving a sigh, Mitchell pushes up off the ground, reaches one hand out to the door, braces himself, nods, takes a deep breath, and steps into the black...


	2. Chapter 1

_Authors Note: (spoilers if you haven't seen Season 3)_

_Ok, so I'm just now learning the publishing format, otherwise I'd have posted this note with the prologue. Hi, my name is Katie and I'm a fanfic addict. I've been reading fanfic for years, NEVER writing anything, and only recently building my favorites lists. My life was well-balanced and fulfilled. Until two Thursdays ago, that is, when I watched one little episode of Being Human on NetFlix. I spent the weekend watching the entire 3 seasons, much to my husband's distress, and this week reading fanfic. Mitchell's death at the end of Season 3 killed me, and while there are some truly amazing writers who are building alternate endings and storylines, this bastard of a plot bunnie dug a burrow in my head and won't get out. After spending the past four nights dreaming of scenes that I just had to outline, I gave in to the inevitable and sat down this morning to start my first story ever. I'm about 3 chapters in and would love a beta, so if any of you would like to volunteer I'd greatly appreciate it._

_**Disclaimer: **I know they're required, and some people get really witty, but mine has been all used up. I have nothing to do with UK's Being Human, it's characters, or it's actors. Hope that's good enough. Oh, and I'm poor, so don't bother suing._

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><p><em>Dropping his head into his hands and jamming his fingers into his hair, Mitchell almost misses seeing the entry door crack open. No noise or light spills into the corridor, and he tenses as he he waits to see who is coming in. As minutes go by with no change, he relaxes again and leans his head back against the wall. Eventually heaving a sigh, Mitchell pushes up off the ground, reaches one hand out to the door, braces himself, nods, takes a deep breath, and steps into the black...<em>

Ch 1.

… and out of the closet in his bedroom at Honolulu House. Body still braced, Mitchell blinks as he realizes where he is and his expression shifts from gritty determination to wariness. The room is dark and quiet, so he activates his inner predator to get an edge on whatever torment is coming. Or at least he tries to activate his inner predator, but all he succeeds in doing is twitching like an angry cat. Regrouping, he twitches again but still nothing. No night vision, no head rush, no hunger. No... Hunger...

Mitchell jolts into movement and rushes into the hallway, almost to the bathroom before he draws up again and spins to look at his bedroom door. His closed bedroom door. "Did I just...?" he trails off in shock. "If hell's an eternal descent into madness it's doing a good job," he mutters to himself. "Hope there isn't an alarm system."

Shaking himself off, Mitchell gets back to the matter at hand and heads to the bathroom. Leaving the light off as he enters, he rests his hands on the lip of the sink, bows his head, and closes his eyes. After a few seconds of stillness Mitchell takes a deep breath, flicks on the switch, and opens his eyes.

To see himself in the mirror for the first time in 90 years.

Tears pooling, Mitchell's eyes trace the movements as his fingertips brush across his cheeks, his stubble, his eyelashes. A smile bursts across his face and he backs up to the opposite wall to see more of his reflection. Making small half-turns and craning his neck to keep his eyes on the mirror, he stares at his hair for a few seconds before bursting into laughter and pulling at it with his fingers.

"_That__'__s_ what's been the girls have been falling for these past years? Madness! It's a nest!" he says to himself with a chuckle before shaking his head and tossing his reflection a cheeky grin. "I was hopin' you could explain somethin' to me, Annie..." All laughter vanishes when he utters her name, yet he still watches with detatched fascination as grim sadness washes over his face. "And I thought _I_ was a master of torture. Surrounded by the husk of my life, given the release I have craved for decades, absent of the people or love that would have made any of that MATTER!"

Worked into a rage, Mitchell screams the last at his reflection, then quickly crosses his arms over his head when the mirror splinters as though punched directly where his face was reflected. Staring in shock at the broken glass littering the floor, he freezes as a noise eminates from down the hall. Noise that sound suspiciously like a door being wrenched open and feet stomping toward the bathroom.

"Annie, that's enough!" declares a George-sounding voice. "Tearing the house to pieces won't do... any..." The George-sounding voice turns out to belong to a George-shaped body, and both grind to a halt when they round the bathroom doorway and see Mitchell standing there with his arms still up and his head turned to the door.

George and Mitchell wear identical expressions of shock, but after a few seconds George lifts a shaking hand. "M-Mitchell?"

Mitchell drops his arms and turns toward the door. "George?" he asks quietly. "You don't belong here..."

They grab each other at the same time for a fierce hug, George blubbering and babbling while Mitchell closes his eyes, rests his head on George's shoulder, and just _holds_. "I'm not in hell," he breathes out before noticing that George is trying to pull away; he lets go enough for George to grab his shoulders and hold him at arms length, still laughing and crying and babbling.

"What are you... How are you... Did you..." Mitchell watches as George has a sobering thought. "I'm mental. I've gone mental, haven't I." George drops his hands from Mitchell's shoulders and breaks eye contact.

"George..."

"Ring round the loony bin, I've finally cracked."

"George."

"Nina's going to kill me, not to mention what this'll do to Annie..."

"GEORGE!" Mitchell grabs George's shoulders and gives them a shake. "Your not mental! At least, no more so than usual." The last is given with a small grin and a quirk of the eyebrows. George just stares back, so Mitchell continues. "I have no idea what's going on, but I do know you're not mental. I'm here. I see you. You see me. I can't believe it and I don't know how, but I'm here and I see you! I think this calls for a drink and a chat, so why don't you tell me where Annie is and I'll get her while you wake Nina. Yeah?"

George responds as though in a daze, "Right. You're really here. Drink and a chat. Annie and Nina. Right. I'll go get Nina while you... go get Annie." George blinks and seems to snap out of it, refocusing on Mitchell and starting to grin again. "Annie. Yeah. If she's not in the kitchen running through all the tea bags, chances are she'll be in her room, listening to Adele or Evanescence." George pulls Mitchell back in for a quick hug, then turns and starts to dart off.

Mitchell's hand on his arm stops him short, and he casts a curious glance over his shoulder.

"You saved me, George." Mitchell says thickly to his hand on George's arm, then meets the guileless blue eyes of his friend. "Thank you. For saving me."

George straightens and nods, then leaves wordlessly. Mitchell scrubs his hands over his face, pushes his hair off his forehead, then throws his hands down to his sides. "Yeah. Annie. Annie!" Stepping into the hall, Mitchell calls her for her as he walks to her room. "Annie?" Opening the door to her room, Mitchell braces his hand again the jam. Empty.

"Mitchell?" comes a whisper from the top of the stairs, making Mitchell whip his head in that direction. Annie is standing there, gripping a mug tightly with both hands.

"Mitchell," she repeats.

"Annie!" he breathes out before bursting into a grin, running and grabbing her up, mug and all, for a spinning hug. "We've got to stop meeting like this," he laughingly whispers into her hair before lowering her back to the floor. Keeping one arm around her back, he shifts the other into her hair, rests the side his head against the top of hers and closes his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. For everything, for anything. I don't know what's going on, but before I lose you again you have to know that I'm sorry. That I'm sorry and that I truly love you. You brought me peace and helped me find the man I used to be, from the beginning you did that, and it's because of your friendship that I was able to actually love again. Able to love you." Mitchell realizes she hasn't responded, physically or otherwise, and looses his hold enough to back up a step. "Annie?" he asks quietly, bending a bit look up at her face and catch her eyes.

Annie searches his eyes then runs her gaze over the planes of his face and down to where his hands are gripping her arms, refocusing just below and in front of her. She slowly releases one hand from the mug and reaches toward his chest. To the center of his chest, over his heart, where a stake was emerging the last time she saw him. He holds still as she touches, presses, then pushes against his chest. Lifting her eyes back to his, her hand rises and skims over his lips, cheek, hair. A soft thud was heard as Annie drops the mug, both hands suddenly busy grabbing fistfuls of Mitchell's hair and pulling him in for a kiss. Mitchell barely manages to huff a relieved laugh around her lips before wrapping one arm around her back and threading the other into her hair, removing any remaining space between them and kissing her back with all he had.

A throat clearing behind them breaks them apart just enough for Mitchell to look over her shoulder and see a grinning George, wrapped in his brown robe, closing his bedroom door and walking toward them. Wrapping his arms around his friends, George leans his head against the others as the three share a quiet, treasured, stolen minute of happiness before the world forces its way back in. Lifting his head and dropping his arm from around Annie, George breaks the moment. "Nina'll be right out. Let's take this down to the bar, shall we?"

Also refusing to let go of Mitchell, Annie drapes his arm over her shoulder as she leads the strange little procession down the stairs and around the corner to the bar. George finally releases Mitchell to take up bartending duties as Mitchell and Annie sit down on the other side of the counter. Holding Annie's hand in his lap and playing with her fingers, Mitchell alternates between watching a grinning George mix a batch of cocktails and staring into Annie's wondering eyes. The slowing of rattling ice drags his gaze back to George, who is lost in thought and no longer smiling. "Mitchell," he begins hesitantly with his eyes on the glasses in front of him.

"What the fuck is going on," a grim voice cuts in, belonging to the pregnant werewolf now standing with her arms folded in the doorway.

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><p><em>Props to anyone who catches the little nod to Aidan's film career that I couldn't resist slipping in! So worth watching, the sex scenes alone warrant the purchase price.<em>


	3. Chapter 2

_Ugh. I keep forgetting to add the AN and disclaimer._

_So I'm still looking for a beta if any of you would like to step up! Meanwhile, I now understand what authors mean when they talk about having no control over the story. I thought this was going to be a short little read that would be an antithesis of Season 3's angst. Nina wouldn't let that happen. *sigh*_

_**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em._

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><p>Ch. 2<p>

Mitchell's mood shifts from bewildered happiness to somber dread, and he knows he's not the only one. "I don't know," he states, dropping Annie's hand and resting his forearms on the counter. Staring at his clasped hands, he continues. "I was in Purgatory - which I don't get, by the way," he says with a quick glance up a George, "but there were no doors. Nothing. Just an endless hallway." Giving a small shrug, he looks at George and Annie as though checking to see if they believe him.

"Weren't there people about?" Annie asks quietly, both hands now resting on her pulled-up knees.

"No! There was nothing," Mitchell replies, seemingly bewildered as can be, before looking back at his hands.

"Did you look?" Nina challenges. "Did you even check around? Or did you just turn and run like usual. Slipped back in before the door closed, I bet, not thinking of anyone but yourself."

"What are you _talking_ about, Nina," Mitchell asks, not bothering to look up from his hands. Nina steps into the room, walks around George, and leans forward into Mitchell's face.

"You murder twenty people and run."

"Nina," George says quietly

"You trick Annie into loving you after being told you were going to die."

"Nina!" Annie exclaims.

"Then, as if that's not enough, you bring god-knows what kind of trouble to our door before having the nerve to ask - fucking ASK! - George to kill you! George!" Still leaning forward, Nina jabs a finger behind her, pointing at the man in question. "Like he needed that! As if losing his best friend wouldn't be enough! You couldn't let anyone else in the world do it, could you? No. It had to be done in such a way that left just a bit more poison on your way out!"

"He was trying to save me from him, Nina," George says wearily, with the air of going over a well-trodden argument.

"I'm trying to explain here, Nina," Mitchell grits out, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed and glaring at the melting ice in the abandoned glasses on the counter.

"I'm sorry guys, but no," Nina says to Annie and George. "No. Any explanation will be shit because he's a shit. And just because you love him doesn't mean that he's not a shit. Clearly. Annie's track record shows that." Nina slams one hand down on the counter before realizing what she said. Covering her mouth with both hands, Nina turns a horrified look to Annie's hurt face. "I'm sorry, Annie, I'm so sorry I said that."

"You're right," Mitchell says tightly without not looking up. "Not about Annie, but about the rest of it. You're right."

Three pairs of eyes turn to him and wait.

"Most vampires are a flash in the pan. They either can't control themselves or can't stand themselves, and a quick end is soon visited them. I've been a vampire for ninety years. I'm a survivalist. Being a shit comes with the territory. But this? Whatever _this_ is?" He lifts his head and stares down Nina, "I didn't do this. I thought I'd be in hell. I ran for an _hour_ down that corridor expecting to drop into hell. When I got _here_ I thought they had needed the extra time because they built me my own special hell." Not dropping Nina's gaze, he leans forward and rests his crossed arms on the counter, "And I might still think that if _you_ were the only one here with me right now." Mitchell's face softens with love as he looks at George then Annie, "But these two..." He trails off and stiffens, snapping his eyes back to Nina. "So you're right. I'm a shit. But that has nothing to do with me being here right now. So why don't we focus on that and you can hate me to your heart's content afterwards."

A few seconds of silence pass as Nina and Mitchell glare at each other.

"And now we all definitely need that drink," George says to break the tension. Grabbing the strainer, he quickly pours the slightly melted cocktail into the two lowballs in front of him then snatches a wineglass from underneath the counter and pours a small amount of chardonnay into it. Handing the wine to Nina while Mitchell grabs one of the glasses, George then kicks back the second drink in one gulp and pours another.

Nina huffs out a breath then takes a small sip of her wine, keeping a suspicious eye on Mitchell.

Mitchell grabs his glass, rolls it between his hands, then tosses it back in a fair imitation of George. Only, he doesn't taste anything. No burn, no moisture, no flavor, nothing. He hears the ice clink and there is definitely less liquid in the glass when he looks at it, but would swear that nothing entered his mouth. He tries again, but still nothing. Feeling Annie's hand grabbing his forearm, he looks at her askance. George, having finished his second drink, looks up in time to see Annie place her hand on Mitchell's arm.

"Mitchell," Annie says flatly, "You're a ghost."

He looks at her blankly, looks at his drink, looks at George, then looks back at Annie. "That's not possible," he says conversationally. "Vampire's can't become ghosts. We're already dead."

"Well I know what happened the first time I tried to eat or drink something, and I just saw it happen to you. So apparently vampires can become ghosts," was Annie's response.

"What happend in that hall, Mitchell?" George asks seriously.

"I told you! I ran and ran and ran and _nothing__!_" Mitchell turns back to George, placing his drink down and spreading his hands wide.

"So how'd you get out?" asks Nina.

Mitchell pauses, then speaks slowly, "The door. The one I came through. When I turned around after running miles, it was just a few yards behind me. I went back to it, and after a while it just... opened."

"Who opened it?" Nina asks, "Did you slip out while another soul was on his way in?"

Mitchell lifts his head in offense. "No! God, would you just..." He drops his eyes down to his hands on the counter, "I told you. I never saw anyone. The door just opened. There was nobody there, coming or going. There was no noise, no light, no person, nothing but a self-opened door."

"And you just went through it?" Annie exclaims, appalled. "What if you had dissolved away? What if that nothingness meant _you_ would become nothing?"

Mitchell turns to face her and grabs her hands in his, "I was dead. I expected to spend an eternity of torture in hell, never to see you or George again. Honestly, I'd take the nothingness and consider myself lucky."

"Can't blame you there," George says wryly, and shares a small smile with Mitchell.

"And obviously you didn't end in nothingness, so then what?" Nina asks with far less rancor and a great deal of pragmatism.

Shooting her a gratefull look, Mitchell continues, "Well, my room is then what. I stepped into the nothingness and arrived upstairs. I was totally confused, wondering if I was finally in hell, but get this," he looks at George than Annie with the beginnings of excitement. "I try to switch on the predator in case of an attack, and nothing!"

George leans in. "Nothing?"

"Nothing!" Mitchell reiterates, breaking into a huge grin and spreading his arms wide. "No fangs, no thirst, nothing! So I run out to the loo and there I am. Looking at my reflection in the mirror!" Beaming at the three of them, he continues, "For the first time in almost a hundred years I can see myself. See what color my eyes are, see the scar on my eyebrow that I got growing up, see what my hair looks like." Turns quickly to Annie, practically giddy with remembered delight. "That reminds me; this is a nest!" Mitchell laughs, pointing at his hair. "How is it you girls spend so much time and effort making sure not one strand of your hair is out of place, then reward men who wear a mess like this?"

Annie smiles and runs a hand over his hair. "Watch it, that's my guy you're talking about and I happen to love his hair. Besides," she continues briskly, "girls are mysterious creatures; you're not meant to understand us, so just accept that it is and don't mess with it." They share a smile, and Mitchell catches her hand as it falls from his hair, folding it between his and resting their clasped hands on his lap.

"That's it?" Nina breaks the moment and all three break jump. "No instructions, warnings, clauses, punishments or rewards? You spend weeks in Purgatory..."

"Weeks?" Mitchell asks in surprise but Nina barrels on.

"...see nothing and no one, then just walk out the door you came in?" she finishes incredulously.

"Yeah. Yeah, that about sums it up." Mitchell says with just a touch of defiance as he looks at all of them. Nina slams her empty wineglass down so hard the stem snaps.

"See? Shit." With that, she marches around George and heads up the stairs.

George watches her go, then turns back to Mitchell and sighs. "I'm sorry, she's... It's been... Hormones," he finishes with a sheepish look, then heads toward the stairs before he stops and turns back to Mitchell with a grin. "I know there's more to come, that seems to be the one thing we can count on, but..." George darts around the bar and pulls Mitchell in for a quick hug, "for now i'm just glad you're back. However it happened." With that said he releases Mitchell and runs up the stairs. Mitchell and Annie turn to each other, but before they can begin George's head pops back around the door frame. "We'll figure out what's going on and Nina'll come round." His head disappears again, and after waiting a few second to make sure he's really gone, Mitchell and Annie realize they're alone.

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><p><em>Reviews are love.<em>


	4. Chapter 3

_Thank you to those who reviewed! I'm still figuring this writing thing out, and I hope you enjoy the ride with me. I like to keep a chapter as a buffer, so here's 3 now that I've got 4 done. See ya on the other side!_

_**Disclaimer: **Not mine, no money, don't sue._

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><p>Ch.3<p>

"Annie," he begins, but stops when she pulls her hand from his, gets up, and walks over to the small cream leather seat. Sitting down, she draws her legs up and wraps her arms around them. Nodding to himself, Mitchell walks over to the cream sofa opposite her and sits, leaning forward and resting his elbows on knees. Content to just watch her, he sits in silence and waits for her to begin.

"What happened, Mitchell?" she finally asks, refusing to look at him as she sits up and drops her feet to the floor.

"I _told_ you, Annie, the door..." he begins tiredly, but stops when she waves him off and finally meets his eyes.

"Not Purgatory, I believe you there. God knows that place has never been the same thing twice. Firsts it's a large bright waiting room full of people that turns into the visual equivalent of a well-lit prison; then you show up and it's a dimly lit hallway full of doors; doors that open to whatever trauma you still need to deal with, I guess, so of course in your case it's never-ending. Why wouldn't it be a doorless, neverending corridor when you really die?" Taking a deep breath, Annie gets back to the point. "What happened to _us_, I mean, the three of us?" She holds his gaze steadily, tilting her head to the side. "I spent these weeks running the past months over and over in my head, trying to figure out how it ended the way it did. How it got to the point that you were gone without us even noticing, how a stranger came to replace the man I loved, how it made _sense_ that George needed to kill you. How any of that _happened_, Mitchell?" Annie's voice breaks at the end, and she wraps her arms around her middle as she holds back the tears. Mitchell's face twists in despair and he makes to get up and hold her, but Annie puts up her hand and shakes her head, silently telling him to stay where he is.

Unable to bear seeing her so upset, Mitchell looks to the floor as he begins talking. "When Lia told me..."

"Stop," Annie says forcefully, shaking her head, and Mitchell looks up in surprise. "No, I tried that and it's no good. This didn't start with Lia." Holding his gaze, she challenges him, "This goes all the way back to when George killed Herrick. That was the start of the end, and I need to know what happened to you. In here." She taps her head.

Mitchell just stares at her before slowly beginning, "I don't know what you're..."

"Fine." She interrupts him, nods to herself, and places her hands very specifically on her knees. "Twenty Questions it is. Or rather, I guess it's more appropriate to call it However Many Questions It Takes. Right." Looking at Mitchell, she once again holds his gaze. "Before George killed Herrick it was the three of us against the world. We shared problems, we looked out for each other, and we were honest with each other. Well, mostly. You never were fully honest, were you, but I thought you had realized it worked itself out for the better once you shared."

"Not hearing a question in there, Annie." Mitchell injects wryly.

"Not the times for quips, Mitchell," was Annie's arch reply. "What happened that night that made you shut yourself off from us? That's your first question." Crossing her arms back over her stomach, she glares at Mitchell and waits for his response.

"I didn't shut myself off from you," Mitchell begins tiredly.

"Horseshit." Annie interrupts. "You did and you know it. Sure, you didn't share everything before that, but at least we knew you were with us. After that night you didn't share anything, and I need you to tell me why. No more stalling."

"I didn't tell you because you didn't want to know!" Mitchell bursts out in frustration. "You and George saw _me_, not the monster, and you wanted to keep it that way!"

"How can you say that?" Annie asks, aghast.

"Because it's true!" Mitchell insists, meeting her eyes with frustration. "The snowstorm had just been given a good shake and we all needed a haven to shelter us until things settled again!" Pausing for a second, Mitchell continues bitterly, "And besides, look what happened when I did share. George was a different person for weeks after killing Herrick, you were being stalked by the other side after missing your door, and Nina's life was changed forever from one interaction. Sharing my world and letting you two get involved in that side of me..." He looks back down at his hands and gives his head a slight shake before continuing in quiet misery. "I couldn't let that happen again."

"So you lied to us. You shut us out and you lied to us and that was _better_?"

"No. But it was the only option I had. Plus... I was a coward. I knew I would lose you both as soon as you realized I was one of them."

"But you _weren__'__t_ one of them, not then!" Annie cries.

"Yes I was, Annie! I was!" Mitchell responds, snapping his head up and imploring her with his eyes to understand. "That's what you and George never got, no matter how I said it! The only difference between me and those vampires you hated was that _I_ fought my monster and _they_ were controlled by theirs! Every minute of every day I was fighting the hunger and drowning in guilt because I knew that the second I stopped, the second I gave in, the monster would take over and I'd be just like the rest of them." He drops his head in defeat, "You didn't want to know that, _couldn__'__t_ know that."

"I thought that the best way for you to learn that," Mitchell lets out a bitter laugh, "not only was I back in that world but _leading _it, was when I had them off blood and in control of themselves. So you wouldn't be in danger." Mitchell lifts his head and meets her eyes with a level gaze as he finishes. "And so you wouldn't be reminded of what I came from, what I could go back to. And decide I wasn't worth it." Unable to hold his composure, Mitchell drops his eyes back to his hands and starts teasing a frayed string on his left glove.

Silence lengthened as Annie stares morosely at the top of Mitchell's bent head.

And then they weren't alone. Without a sound, displacement of air, or burst of light, there was a red-headed woman stretched out on the unused portion of the couch. White booted feet crossed at the ankles, white skinny jeans encasing long legs, a sparkly white club tank topping the outfit. Her long, pale hand covers her eyes and she is groaning. Mitchell jumps up and places himself between the stranger and Annie, opening his mouth to demand... something, when she beats him to it. The groan morphs from a protracted 'Ugh" to "For pity's sake!"

Removing her hand from her eyes and pinning them under her deep green stare, she slaps her hand down on the top of the couch back and continues. "I'm all about talking it out, but you two are the _worst__!_ You're alone for four minutes - _four_! -" she repeats while holding up four fingers for emphasis, "after one of you watches the other die, neither of you ever expecting to see each other - the loves of your lives - again; and instead of revelling in the unexpected gift and whispering sweet nothings to each other until reality intrudes, you're half a room apart and angsting all over each other's faces! Unbelievable! It's almost as though you both _enjoy_ emotional torture! Seriously?" She pauses after the rhetorical question and points the first two fingers of her raised hand at Mitchell and Annie, "The _worst_."

"Who _are_ you?" Mitchell asks, affronted.

"The name's Ambriel," the stranger says as she sits up, shifts her feet to the floor, smiles and holds out her hand. "For the time being you four can consider me your guardian angel."

Mitchell eyes her hand like it's about to bite him.

"No offense," Annie begins as she peers around the right side of Mitchell, "but the last supernatural person who offered us guidance turned out to be nothing more than a small-minded manipulative bitch bent on revenge. So we're going to need a bit more from you than that."

Ambriel, hand still extended, considers Annie's words for a moment then gives a small side nod in acceptance. Dropping her hand but not the smile, Ambriel stands, "Now that's something I can understand. Brilliant. Ok, here we go."

Mitchell stiffens and Annie leans back into the seat as Ambriel closes her eyes, extends her arms out and down, and bows her head. Bumping into Annie's legs, Mitchell takes a step back as the strange, pretty red-head is suddenly transformed into a robed, glowing, eleven foot being with what appears to be body-length wings shimmering in the air behind her. Many soft voices singing "AAAAAAHHHH" can suddenly be heard, and Ambriel lifts her head, smiles, and opens her eyes. Her glowing, ice-blue eyes. Michell's and Annie's jaws drop as Ambriel gives the two a saucy wink then shakes her body out and returns to the choir-free, 5'9" pale, lanky woman in non-weather-appropriate white club clothes. "That do for you?" she asks jauntily, clearly pleased with herself and their reaction.

Mitchell drops down onto Annie's seat, somehow still managing to keep his eyes on Ambriel and his body between the angel and Annie. Annie is saved from an indelicate trip to the floor by Mitchell's quick arm around her back, tucking her under his arm and snug to his side, and other hand grabbing and draping her legs over his lap. To the casual observer - or angel - he appears to be simultaneously guarding Annie and using her as a shield. Still staring at Ambriel, he finally breaks the silence. "A bloody angel is in our living room."

"Well, minus the bloody part, but yeah." Ambriel replies as she drops back down into the corner of the couch and stretches her legs out.

"Why is there an angel in our living room?" Annie asks the world at large.

Ambriel looks between the two, who've barely blinked since she transformed, and laughs a bit to herself. The laugh snaps Annie and Mitchell back into themselves, and they share a look before turning back to Ambriel.

"There's an angel in your living room because you four need all the help you can get," Ambriel begins, finally serious. Pushing back up into a sitting position, she leans forward and speaks earnestly, "Normally I don't get personally involved in these things, but in addition to the fact that the Big Bad Evil has you four in it's sights, you all simply can't seem to work anything out! Annie and Nina only need some nominal guidance, because let's face it, they're the most well-adjusted of the bunch, but you, Mitchell, you and George..." She frowns as she point at him. "Well, frankly there isn't a therapist alive or dead who'll be able to get your heads out of your arses in time." Shaking her head in bemusement, Ambriel continues, "You two are volatile, self-loathing, and incapable of seeing any good in yourselves. Well, you especially. George is starting to come into a bit of self-acceptance, he just needs some help getting there quicker." The last is said almost to herself as she contemplates her hands. "You, on the other hand," Mitchell and Annie both start as Ambriel's head snaps back up and she pins him under her level gaze. "You seem absolutely incapable of any perspective or moderation. You were amazingly self-aware to Herrick when you were in that cage, while simultaneously blinding yourself to all the rest of you that makes you who you are! It was incredible, really," she finishes animatedly, leaning back against the couch and crossing her arms, "I've never more wanted to cheer and smack someone at the same time!" Releasing another small laugh, she looks across at Mitchell and Annie and waits.

"So..." Annie draws out before continuing as though fitting puzzle pieces together, "You're here... To help us... By getting us to love ourselves... Because a big evil is coming our way."

"More or less." Ambriel states cheerfully. "Well, less really; you've totally fudged forgiveness for love, but yeah. Close enough for now. Can we move on to what I just interrupted?" Ambriel hops forward to the edge of her seat, brimming with eagerness. "I really want to get back to what I interrupted, it was just so hilariously awful! And you both believe it! Mitchell," she says with mock regret, "You would have made a great politician; what a way with words. Such a way, in fact, that you make something absolutely ludicrous sound reasonable! Even to yourself!" Actually laughing in their faces now, Ambriel sobers a bit as she considers their offended countenances. "Sorry. I got carried away. Temperance is not every angel's default setting."

Moving out of the corner of the couch to crouch before them, she places a hand on either's knee and speaks softly. "You two have a lot to work out. Annie, you were right that Mitchell pulled away after George killed Herrick. And Mitchell, you were right that George and Annie weren't reconciling their understanding of you with what they learned of vampires." Turning fully to Mitchell, she continues. "But you never even gave them the chance, did you? All that pontificating you did to George about keeping things seperate and you were ten times as bad as him." Once again looking earnestly between the two, she removes her hands and moves back to take up Mitchell's abandoned spot on the couch.

"So," Ambriel starts with a bit more spirit. "Who wants to start?"

* * *

><p><em>I know, I know. It's a bit deus ex machina - literally - but come on; it's a show about ghosts, werewolves, and vampires. Surely a non-denominational angel isn't too far a stretch...<em>


	5. Chapter 4

**_AN: _**_Oh my god this chapter wouldn't END! I'm sorry for the delay, but Mitchell and Annie and Ambriel wouldn't shut up. I even started to break this into two chapters but it just didn't lend itself to that. But at least the rest of the plot has fallen into place. :-) Bless Season 3 and it's many many layers... but for now, I hope you enjoy the therapy session!_

_**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine, 'cept for Ambriel, so don't sue._

* * *

><p><em>Moving <em>_out __of __the __corner __of __the __couch __to __crouch __before __them__, __she __places __a __hand __on __either__'__s __knee __and __speaks __softly__. "__You __two __have __a __lot __to __work__out__. __Annie__, __you __were __right __that __Mitchell __pulled __away __after __George __killed __Herrick__. __And __Mitchell__, __you __were __right __that __George __and __Annie __weren__'__t __reconciling __their __understanding __of __you __with __what __they __learned __of __vampires__." __Turning __fully __to __Mitchell__, __she __continues__. "__But __Mitchell__, __you __never __gave __them __the __chance__. __All __that __pontificating __you __did __to __George __about __keeping __things __seperate __and __you __were __ten __times __as __bad __as __him__." __Once __again __looking __earnestly __between __the __two__, __she __removes __her __hands __and __moves __back __to __take __up __Mitchell__'__s __abandoned __spot __on __the __couch__._

"_So__," __Ambriel __starts __with __a __bit __more __spirit__. "__Who __wants __to __start__?"_

"Am I a ghost?" Mitchell asks.

"Really? That's what you want to start with?" Ambriel shrugs, "Well, why not dive right in to the heart of it, and this'll actually explain a lot, so good question!" Ambriel rewards him with a smile and sits back against couch. "Yes, you're a ghost."

"... _and__..._" Mitchell prompts when it's clear she's not planning on saying more.

"And what? You can't build from there?"

"How does confirming I'm a ghost _explain_ anything? I thought you were here to help!" Practically yelling by the time he's done, Mitchell's anger and fierce glare are ruined by the fact that Annie is still wrapped around him like a lifesaver.

"So, no. You can't build from there." Clapping her hands together, Ambriel leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. "What do you know about ghosts? Annie?"

Startled by the direct inquiry, Annie answers hesitantly. "Ah, we can't eat or drink anything?"

"Go a little deeper..." Ambriel encourages with a roll of her hand.

"Well," casting a quick glance at Mitchell, Annie states more firmly, "most of us are souls with unfinished business, typically caused by a brutal or untimely death."

"Brilliant!" Ambriel applauds. "Got it in two!"

"I still don't see how that helps!" Mitchell bursts out in frustration. "I don't have a soul and I didn't have an untimely death, so again, what does me being a ghost explain?" Clearly at the end of his rope, Mitchell releases Annie and slides out from under her legs in order to get up and pace. Annie and Ambriel watch with respective looks of concern and fascination as Mitchell steeples his hands in front of his mouth and paces for a few minutes, deep in thought. Both start a bit as Mitchell whirls mid-pace and points his steepled hands at Ambriel.

"You say some big evil has us in it's sights. I've been a vessel of evil for longer than most people on earth have been alive." Tapping his still joined fingers against his chin, Mitchell resumes pacing. "That explains what I was doing in Purgatory in the first place. Hell's a one-way trip so I'm no use to them there. They need me here, with you three, where I can finish off any goodness you have left!" Sharing a look of horror with Annie, Mitchell drops to his knees beside her and buries his head in her lap. "I'm so tired of bringing pain and darkness to the ones I love. When will it _end_?"

Unable to bear the abject misery in Mitchell's voice, tears pool in Annie's eyes as she runs a comforting hand through his hair. The unexpected sound of applause startles both of them out of their commiseration and they look up to see Ambriel giving them a standing ovation.

"Bravo! I knew you were good but I never expected something on the level of this!" Placing her hands on her hips, Ambriel laughs before continuing in a wondering tone. "Here you are with an obvious answering staring you in the face... and you're completely blinded by your self-loathing and conceit. Instead you draft a convoluted and frankly asinine situation where once again you are the villain responsible for the downfall of _everyone_!" After shaking her head at Mitchell, she points a finger at Annie. "And you! Where _were_ you just now? Mitchell's ready to hang himself and you're might as well have been tying the noose for all the help you were. No." Ambriel catches herself and puts her hands up. "Hold that thought. Mitchell first."

Sitting back down on the edge of the couch, Ambriel adopts an air of seriousness. "Mitchell, I'm going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer them as though we are discussion someone else."

"Someone else," was his flat reply.

"Yes. Answer as though we are discussing... Bernie. You remember Bernie, don't you?"

"Of course I remember Bernie," Mitchell grumbles. "And don't talk to me as though I'm a bit touched."

"Fine. Sorry. I just know a lot has happened since then and I wanted to be sure you knew who I was talking about." Ambriel replies in defense.

"You don't forget something like that..." Mitchell begins, but a soft tug on his hair cuts him off. He looks to see Annie frown at him, a clear hint to shut up and move on.

"Tell me. Are you inherently evil?" Ambriel asks slowly.

"Of course..."

"Mitchell!" Annie interrupts, "Surely you don't believe that!"

Ambriel saves Mitchell from having to reply. "Let me rephrase: is Bernie inherently evil?"

"... No." Mitchell admits grudgingly.

"What makes you say that?" She presses.

Brow wrinkled in confusion at the turn of inquery, Mitchell explains. "Because contrary to what they tell you in the beginning, the monster doesn't kick you out; it shares a space. Bernie's a good kid, and he's got him mom to remind him of who he is when he forgets."

"Does Bernie have a soul?" Ambriel continues, her obvious satisfaction with his answer giving way to surprise and Mitchell's next response.

"Not with him anymore."

"Really? Why do you say that?"

"Because he's dead," Mitchell explains like it's the most obvious fact in the world. "Because the mortal coil has been shucked! The only reason his body is walking and talking is because a soul-less monster that thrives on blood and death has taken up residence. A vampire's soul, wherever it is, isn't hanging around with it's body."

Maintaining eye contact, Ambriel leans back against the seat and taps her pointer finger against her lips as she contemplates his words. "But didn't you just say that the monster doesn't kick you out?"

"It doesn't!" Mitchell insists angrily, "But that's your personality! Your headspace! Your soul is tied to your body, not your brain, and it's long gone by the time the vampire gets behind the wheel."

"Wow. That sounds entirely reasonable." Ambriel says conversationally. "It certainly explains a lot."

"Well it still explains _nothing_ to me." Mitchell says with disgust. "How are you going to help us if you don't know even the basics of vampirism."

"It explains that I really can't leave this up to you." Ambriel says with a touch of sadness before getting up to kneel in front of Mitchell. Taking his hands in hers, she says without any hint of levity, "John, I need you to listen to me on what I'm about to say. I need you to turn off that justification machine of yours and accept that what I'm saying is truth. Ok?" She searches his eyes and continues after his small nod.

"Your soul never left you."

Pausing to make sure he's still with her, she continues on. "No vampire's has. Sure, it went through an out-of-body experience, but it snapped back in when you woke up dead. Your soul was with you the whole time, going through everything you did. This is a huge deal that I need you to accept. Can you do that?" Once again searching his eyes, Ambriel waits for his response.

Mitchell drops his eyes. "I don't know," was his whispered reply.

"Mitchell," Annie says acerbically, "there's an honest-to-god angel kneeling in front of you, holding your hands and telling you you have a soul. Believe her."

Unable to contain a small huff of laughter, Mitchell looks up at Annie then Ambriel. "Fine. I'll do my best."

"That's good enough for me," Ambriel says with a gentle smile as she releases his hands then returns to her seat on the couch. Annie threads her fingers back into Mitchell's hair once he settles himself on the floor beside her seat.

"So... if vampires still have their souls, why have there never been any vampire ghosts before now?" Annie asks as the silence lengthens. She continues when Ambriel looks up from watching Mitchell realign his understanding of the world. "I mean, most vampires die a pretty awful death, and given the previously stated recipe for ghosts doesn't that mean the world should be littered with them? Herrick, at least, should be haunting about."

"Another good question; have you heard the phrase 'use it or lose it'?" Ambriel asks.

"Of course." Mitchell and Annie reply in unison.

"That's a close approximation of what happens to vampires. Take John and Herrick, since you brought him up. Hard as it is to believe, you both still had your souls all the way through to the last confrontation. The difference between you two is that yours has been slowly nurtured over the past decades while his has been all but obliterated. Herrick embraced his vampire and determinedly beat down any hint of humanity that tried to rise. He repressed his soul, and so at the end it was a tiny shriveled thing with barely enough strength for a glimmer. I think it might actually have disintegrated along with him, honestly." Ambriel says the last quietly to herself, as though feeling pity for whatever remained of Herrick's twisted, feeble soul.

Snapping out of it, Ambriel looks back at Mitchell and continues brightly. "You, on the other hand, have a hale and hearty soul! It grew tougher as you battled your monster into submission and was strengthened by your friendship with George." Pausing, Ambriel gives Annie a considering look while addressing Mitchell. "Tell me, Mitchell. Did you love Josie?"

Mitchell stiffens and straightens away from Annie's chair. "I don't see how..."

"I know you don't," Ambriel interrupts, looking back at him. "and I know it's uncomfortable, but you need to answer the question. Did. You. Love. Josie?"

Unhappy with this turn in the conversation, Mitchell scrubs his hands over his face before replying. "I thought I did."

"Do you still think that?"

"I love her now. In a completely different way," he hurries to reassure Annie before turning back to Ambriel, "but I love her now."

"But back then..." Ambriel presses relentlessly.

Mitchell sighs and looks to the floor. "Back then I thought I was in love; I didn't know any better. But no, I wasn't actually in love with her. I was desperate for relief from the mindless cycle of blood and death with Herrick, and she gave me an out. I'll love her eternal for giving me back the first pieces of myself, but back then... No. I didn't actually love her. I wasn't capable of love at the time."

"Do you feel the same way about Annie?" Ambriel asks gently.

"NO!" Appalled, Mitchell jerks his head up to meet her gaze. "God no! I love her in spite of myself!"

Any response Annie has to that is diverted by Ambriel's next question. "What do you mean by that, John? In spite of yourself?"

"Falling in love with her was the most selfish thing I could do." Mitchell answers. "I had just killed those poor people on the tram, and those bastards at CenSSA, then been told that there was a wolf-shaped bullet with my name on it, giving me what... a month or two tops? The last thing in the world I should have done was let Annie fall in love with me. But I couldn't help myself. And I don't regret it." Turning to look up at her, he continues fiercely. "I don't. Loving you and having your love - even though I knew I didn't deserve it - has been the highlight of my long and stolen life."

Unable to respond, Annie cradles his face in her hands then leans down for a lingering kiss. Ambriel looks away and lets them have their moment, quickly dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

"So no." Mitchell says softly but emphatically after breaking away and turning back to Ambriel. "To answer your question; I don't feel the same way about Annie."

Smiling at his defiance, Ambriel moves on. "And how do you think that's possible?"

"What, love Annie? It's impossible not to." Again he looks up at Annie, but this time it's to grin.

"Good answer." Annie says with affection as Ambriel bursts into laughter.

"I can see why he's so hard to resist." Ambriel shares a grin of appreciation with Annie before getting back to business. "Seriously, John, think about the question. How do you think it's possible for you to truly love Annie?"

Mitchell opens his mouth for another quick reply but stops, considers Ambriel for a moment, then looks to the rug and slowly answers.

"...Because I have a soul... I'm not just a vessel for evil."

Ambriel interrupts Mitchell's second major revelation of the day with a crow of joy. "_Finally _he gets it!" she says to the ceiling before looking back at both of them. "You're a ghost because you have a strong soul, and your soul became strong because you sought love and humanity. Evil cannot love. Evil sees goodness and wants to destroy it. Evil sees the world and wants to possess it. Evil simply cannot comprehend or experience love. You are not inherently evil, you never were; you just had a bigger fight on your hands. A fight you didn't even know you were in, and one you won. Remember that. No matter what else comes, remember Annie and remember _that__._" Shifting forward to rest her elbows on her knees, Ambriel points a finger at Mitchell in emphasis.

"Well that doesn't sound ominous at all," was Mitchell's almost idle response, as he was busy processing this new understanding of the world.

"Wait." Annie says emphatically as she removes her hand from his hair and wraps both arms around her now-drawn-up knees. "I'm sorry; Mitchell I'm really, really sorry," she says to him with a sad look before looking back at Ambriel, "but... Mitchell having his soul this whole time... doesn't that make things worse?"

"Depends on how you see it," Ambriel casually replies with a shrug.

"Let's assume I _don__'__t_ have the vision of a millenias-old angel," Annie snaps, clearly getting fed up with the vague replies. "How does Mitchell having a soul make things better? Shouldn't that make things worse? I mean, if he's had his soul the whole time, that means..." Annie pauses as she looks at Mitchell in dismay, _"__Mitchell_ killed all those people on the Tunnell..."

Mitchell hangs his head as Annie's words trail off; missing Ambriel's quizzical look to Annie. "What are you going on about? You already know about him having a hand in the BT20."

"But that was when I thought he couldn't help himself! That there wasn't anything inside him to hold the monster back! But now?" Annie's brow furrows with agitation as her understanding becomes re-aligned. "Well. Now you're saying he has a strong soul that's been struggling to the surface. So that means he _chose_ to become the monster. He _chose_ to let go and become the vampire that brutally murdered 20 people."

"First of all, Mitchell isn't the only one responsible for those deaths; Daisy was in that car with him." Ambriel cups her chin in her right hand as she continues. "Daisy was the one who hatched the idea and spurred him on. He actually spent quite a bit of time trying to prevent it before Lucy's betrayal broke his tenuous grip. Didn't you two talk about any of this?"

Annie looks down at the top of Mitchell's head, then back up at Ambriel.

"There wasn't really an opportunity," Mitchell says quietly, still not looking up, "and it doesn't matter. I was there, I participated, and I was merciless. I have no justification for what I did, and Annie's right. The fact that I did it while having a soul just makes it that much more horrific."

"Stop it. Both of you right now. Stop it. Ugh, we were doing so well!" groaning, Ambriel leans back on the couch and covers her face with both hands for a few seconds before sitting up again and pinning Mitchell with her eyes. Gone was all previous softness, in its place was a rigid implacability. "John, did you ever rely on yourself to make a change?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you ever believe that ultimately you were in control of your actions?"

"I'm always in control of my actions!"

"Really? You certainly don't talk like it. Every bad, terrible, and awful thing you've ever done is because you're a vampire, and every good thing you've done is because of someone else." Dropping her voice and continuing in a poor imitation of an Irish accent, Ambriel starts ticking off on her fingers in time with her sentences. "'Josie saved me and gave me a reason to get off blood.' 'The only reason I didn't become a raving mass murderer sooner was because of George and Annie' 'I got a coven off blood so that i could keep my housemates.' Reverting to her normal voice, Ambriel drops her hand and glares at Mitchell, "Even with Lucy you looked outside of yourself for a reason to change; or don't you remember begging her to run away with you and be your reason for staying off blood."

"What?"

Ambriel doesn't break eye contact with Mitchell as she holds up a finger. "Not now Annie; bookmark that thought."

"I will paraphrase the question: did you ever believe that you were the sole controller of your actions?"

"...No. I always knew the vampire was there, undermining everything. I knew I needed someone or something to give me a reason to fight, and even then knew it was just a matter of time before I would slip and fall again."

"So no matter what, in your own head you always had the expectation of spectacular failure."

"Eventually, yeah." Mitchell admits with a sigh.

"And the reason you didn't feel you could do it on your own was..." she prompts, no less severe.

"Because I didn't think I had any humanity left, because I didn't know I still had my soul."

Ambriel turns her glare to Annie. "Do you understand the implications of that statement?"

"Ah..." Annie draws out, intimidated by Ambriel's fierce intensity.

"Tell me the implications of that statement."

"Well... I guess..." Annie's voice firms, "it's hard to fight the monster inside when you don't know there's any hope or goodness within you and there is an expectation of failure."

"Right." Ambriel nods, but doesn't lessen her glare. "Now add that with the following: an explosion that kills a close friend and the coven you've just saved; a psychotic vampire insisting on vengence; and discovering that the woman you thought you loved, you thought was the key to your humanity, the one you were going to run away with, has secretly been plotting said bombing, your death, and the capture of your friends for nefarious purposes. Am I starting to build you a picture?"

Annie gives a wide-eyed nod and Mitchell finally looks up at Ambriel, surprised by her vehemence.

"Good. Then maybe you can be a bit more understanding about how Mitchell came to be a part of the Box Tunnel 20, soul or no soul." Ambriel stands up as she finishes and does a bit of pacing of her own. Annie and Mitchell share a look of confusion at the angel's agitation.

"You want me to _understand_ what happened? Why?" Annie asks, completely bewildered by the turn in the conversation.

"Because you need to understand what he was going through in order to forgive him for it." Ambriel stops pacing directly in front of the seated pair.

"Forgive him?" Annie repeats, shocked.

"Yes, Annie, forgive him." Ambriel crosses her arms and looks at her impassively. "You need to forgive Mitchell for what he did."

"Wait. Just..." Annie closes her eyes and holds up a hand, "Stop." She opens her eyes and asks, "You, the _angel_, are telling me, the ghost, that I have to forgive him, the vampire... ghost... vampost... ghospire?" Annie shakes her head and gets back on topic, "Whatever... for the brutal slaying of 20 innocent people? No judge, no trial, no closure for the families, just me... forgiving him.' She crosses her arms, leans back, and looks Ambriel up and down. "I'm sorry but what kind of angel are you? Because I've seen an episode or two of Touched by an Angel and you know what?" Annie points a finger at Ambriel and circles her with it, "This doesn't match."

Mitchell looks up at Ambriel to gauge her reaction. She didn't disappoint, taking a step back and letting out a disbelieving laugh. "Ok, 1. Did you _really_ just compare me to a cheesy 90s american tv show? B. To err is human, to forgive divine. and 3. I'm the angel of communication; who did you think you were going to get?" Ambriel's good humor seems to be somewhat restored by Annie's challenge, much to Annie's irritation.

"But what I did isn't forgivable," Mitchell cuts in, looking up between the two. "And it's certainly not Annie's place to forgive me. We all know the families need justice and I need to be punished; forgiveness is not on the menu." He hangs his head again, but Ambriel's pointed response brings his eyes back up.

"Nooooo, you _want_ punishment. What you both _need_ is forgiveness."

"I just don't understand why we're talking about this!" Annie jumps to her feet and stands firm in front of Ambriel. "Punishment, forgiveness, soul, no soul, none of that changes what happened. It doesn't alter the fact that twenty lives were brutally ended..."

Ambriel deflates and cuts her off with a sad acknowledgment. "You're right. Understanding and forgiveness don't change what happened. Nothing will ever change what happened." She lowers her eyes for a moment of silence before straitening and meeting Annie's gaze. "But they do change things for you, Annie. To you." She tilts her head to the side and continues softly. "Mitchell's a ghost now, so there's not much worry about him repeating his rampages of death and destruction, and being free of the vampire will let the truly good person he was return. You, on the other hand, are still in anguish over the knowledge that you fell in love with a man capable of committing atrocities like the Box Tunnel 20." Taking the other woman's hands in hers, Ambriel gently explains, "It's important to understand what happened to him because it helps you understand yourself. And by providing some understanding, hopefully you'll be able to forgive him and yourself a bit faster." She smiles and gives Annie's hands a squeeze before looking down to Mitchell. "I'm here to encourage the redemptive powers of love and forgiveness, not affix judgment or punishment. So can we get back to that?"

Annie takes a deep breath then also looks down at Mitchell, who is gazing up at both of them with a look of timid hope. "Can I..." she looks sideways at Ambriel, "can we take a pause? To process some of this? Maybe talk in private?"

"Of course!" Ambriel claps her hands and takes another step back. "It has been a crazy hour or so, hasn't it? Unexpected second chances, a combative house meeting, gate-crashing angel... I'll leave you two alone for a while. Just..." She puts her hands together and rests her forefingers against her chin as she entreats, "don't undo what I think we've managed to do here so far? Talk, please, talk it all out, but keep your love and new understanding in the front of your mind? Please? We're not working with unlimited time."

And with that, the angel is gone.

Annie blinks at the empty space, then after a few seconds slowly turns to look at Mitchell. She wordlessly holds out both hands, intent on helping him off the floor. He grasps them and gives a hard yank, pulling her off her feet and into his lap. "Much better," he murmurs into her hair, savoring the feel of her in his arms.

"Mitchell," Annie begins, rubbing her cheek against his red shirt.

"No. Not yet. That crazy angel was right about at least one thing: I never thought I'd see you again; can't we just take a few minutes... hours... and just _be_ before the sun comes up and reality returns?" He lifts his head enough to peer into her face, smiling when he sees her eyes are closed.

"That sounds perfect." Annie whispers with a smile. "But can we do it on the couch?"

He laughs and they resettle on the couch, Mitchell stretched out on his back with Annie tucked under his arm, half on top and half in the space between him and the back of the couch. And there they remained until the sun began its rise.

* * *

><p><em>Up next, Nina and George meet Ambriel. I'm looking forward to seeing how Nina handles the irritatingly spritely ghost. :-D <em>

_Reviews are love, people._


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